


The Cabin

by Dearly_Divided



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Dark Erik, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Erik is not redeemed, F/M, Kidnapping, Morally Grey Characters, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsession, Pirates AU no one asked for, Protective Nadir, Protective Raoul, Raoul deserved better, Raoul is pure and good, Unhealthy Relationships, manipulative Erik, pirates!, poor christine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearly_Divided/pseuds/Dearly_Divided
Summary: Admiral Raoul de Chagny couldn't believe his luck, after years of being hunted by the French Navy his crew had finally managed to defeat and capture the crew of The Siren, a pirate ship led by a horrifying and malevolent masked Captain known only as the Phantom. However, when he finds a terrified Christine Daae hiding away in the Phantom's cabin, not everything is as it seems, and the story of how she came to be there and the choices he makes next will set in motion events that will irrevocably change all three of their lives.





	1. Prologue

_March 1 st 1696, Paris_

 

“Raoul, please think this through! It’s madness!”

 

Raoul barely regarded his brother, shuffling through a series of papers on his desk. He looked a mess, his clothes rumpled, stubble on his cheek. His eyes were frantic and rimmed in red, and Phillipe knew for a fact that his brother hadn’t been sleeping the past few nights.

 

“I’m going, I have to. I have to find her, Phil,” he muttered, pushing past his brother to open his closet. He began pulling clothes off their hangers, throwing them haphazardly onto his bed.

 

“She struck a bargain for your life, Raoul. It was a one-time deal and I will forever be in her debt for that, but what do you think will happen if you find her? Do you think he’s just going to hand her over to you?” Phillipe gently placed a hand on his brother’s arm, “Look, Raoul, I understand how you feel about her-“

 

Raoul ripped his arm out of Phillipe’s grip, whirling on him like a madman, “You have no idea how I feel about Christine! I love her and I refuse to see her left at the mercy of that monster!” He took a deep steadying breath and in a continued in a cold voice, “I’m leaving tomorrow at dawn whether you wish it or not. I have a ship, my crew and leave from the King himself. Now if it please you I would like to be left alone to pack my things.” He didn’t wait for a response, instead turning back to emptying his closet.

 

Phillipe flinched at the hostility of his brother’s voice, “You’re a fool, little brother, but I can see you will not be swayed. For what it is worth I hope you find her… I hope your determination doesn’t get the both of you killed.”

 

If he hoped that Raoul would acknowledge his words, he was sorely disappointed. The only sign that he had even heard him at all was the tightening of Raoul’s posture. With a deep sigh Phillipe turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

The anger leeched from Raoul’s face as Phillipe’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. As if the life had been drained of him he sagged against his wardrobe and ran a hand through his hair. For a moment he was tempted to go after him, though to do what he wasn’t sure. He wanted his brother’s blessing for his journey, but he would track down that monster with or without it, no matter how much it pained him. Christine needed him, and that was far more important than Phillipe’s feelings.

 

With a resolute sigh he stood up straight and resumed his packing. Every moment he waited they slipped further away from him. _He_ already had almost a three day head start.

 

xxx

 

It was perhaps twenty minutes later that the door to Raoul’s room opened again.

 

Without looking up from his packing Raoul sighed, “Have you come to give me your blessing or are you here to argue with me some more?”

 

“Neither, I’m afraid,” a smooth, accented voice replied.

 

Raoul’s head snapped up in horror and found a dark skinned Persian man standing before him. He recognized him instantly as the Quartermaster from the Phantom’s ship. Nadir, Christine had called him, on the rare instances she had spoken about her time aboard _The Siren_.

 

“You were supposed to be hanged, how did you escape?” he asked, well aware that it was the least of his worries at the present.

 

The Persian smiled and stepped through the threshold, shutting the door behind him. “Christine.” He said the name with a soft smile, and Raoul couldn’t help but wonder how close they had been. “She visited me in the prison and slipped me the key she had taken from the guard.” He sighed, like the weight of the world had suddenly fallen upon his shoulders “She is a sweet child, Vicomte, I am glad that she managed to keep that after everything that happened.”

 

Raoul frowned at the absurdity of his words. “Christine would never-“

 

The Persian cut him off quickly, “Christine is capable of many things, Vicomte. One tends to think of morality in shades of grey rather than black and white after…  well, you know I suppose.”

 

He was tempted to argue, he knew Christine better than this, this _pirate_ ever could! But somehow he doubted that the man had broken into his home to discuss his fiancée’s moral compass.

 

With a deep breath Raoul stood straighter and eyed the man in front of him, “Why are you here? Did _he_ send you?”

 

Again the Persian smiled, though it was a smile filled with sadness and regret. “Yes, he did. He thought you might try and follow her, and by the looks of things, he was right,” he said, his eyes wandering over the overflowing suitcase on Raoul’s bed and the maps sprawled across his desk.

 

“So you’ve come to kill me then, I suppose?” Raoul asked calmly.

 

The Persian pulled from his belt a pistol and aimed it at Raoul’s heart. “I am sorry, truly Vicomte. He wished to do this himself, in truth I think it caused him no small amount of pain to stay behind, but Christine came first. He could not bear to leave her side. He is better, I think, with her around. He did not take her _departure_ well.”

 

Raoul’s heart was beating rapidly against his chest and his palms were sweating. Phillipe’s room was down the hallway, too far to hear any commotion. The maids and other servants would have finished and turned in for the night, even if he shouted for help and someone did hear, they would not be there quick enough. His pistols were already packed away; his sword was lying atop his chest of draws on the opposite side of the room, he might be able to reach it in time, but it didn’t look good.

 

“How can you let this happen? Christine is innocent; you’re condemning her to a fate worse than death! I can save her; I can end this! Don’t you want her to be happy?” he hissed.

 

The Persian man sighed, “Christine is very dear to me, and I am sorry that it has to end this way, but Erik… I owe him a thousand times over.”

 

Raoul threw his hands up in the air in frustration, hot tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, “You can’t do this to me, to her! I love her! I have to save her!”

 

There was pity in the Persian’s eyes as he stared at the weeping man before him but there was also a certain hardness about him. He might have sympathy for Raoul, he might even regret his death after the fact, but he would follow his orders despite that.

 

“Christine will be well looked after, Vicomte. He loves her deeply, no harm will come to her, I swear it.”

 

There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, Raoul had accepted this.

 

“Please don’t do this, I beg of you.”

 

With slow steady fingers the Persian cocked his pistol.

 

Perhaps he could tackle him to the ground, fight him for the pistol?

 

No, even if he managed to take down the Persian before the gun was fired, there was no guarantee that in the ensuing scuffle it wouldn’t accidentally go off, killing him anyway.

 

“If… If it gives you any peace, I truly think Christine will be happy.”

 

“You’re mad…” Raoul breathed.

 

“Perhaps,” the Persian acknowledged, and then he pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

_Paris October 21 st 1694_

Admiral de Chagny stepped onto the deck of _The Siren_ , a smug smile on his handsome face. As he walked across the wooden deck his blue eyes swept over the crowd of tied up pirates, searching for one in particular.

 

Ah, there. Sitting in amongst the scruffy, bloodied crew was a thin man wearing a black mask that covered entire face except his lower lip and jaw.

 

That alone told de Chagny exactly who this man was.

 

The Phantom.

 

There wasn’t a soul who travelled the sea didn’t know the name, though the man behind it was still a mystery.

 

Captain of _The Siren_. Pirate. Vicious, bloodthirsty killer. Hideous. Monster. _Ghost_.

 

Wanted by at least twelve countries, France included, for piracy, murder, theft and kidnapping.

 

And now they were at the mercy of de Chagny and the French navy.

 

He would be rewarded generously for this, he thought as he strode towards the Phantom.

 

“If I’d have known it would have been this easy to capture you I would have done so months ago,” he laughed, the white hair of his perfectly coiffed wig gleaming in the sun.

 

Two yellow eyes glared balefully at him from behind the mask.

 

“What can I say?” the mocking voice began. “You caught us at a bit of a bad time. I assure you _Admiral_ , next time you won’t be so lucky.”

 

It was true. The ship was in a huge state of disrepair after the storm two days beforehand. His own ship, _The Intrepid_ , had also suffered damages, but nothing like this. _The Siren_ was a wreck, the deck had been torn up, the sails were ripped and several of the masts were broken, rendering her entirely useless.

 

De Chagny stared down at the masked man, “You stole some important cargo from us, and we’d like it back, if you don’t mind.” Yellow eyes glared back, but he remained silent. De Chagny nodded to himself and stood up straight, turning to address his men.

 

“Turn this ship upside down, find those crates!”

 

Each of them nodded, and then with military precision split off into small parties to scour the ship, leaving their captain alone with the pirates.

 

“You know, I never thought I would see the day that the infamous _Siren_ would be so easily brought down. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m even a little disappointed, it was hardly a fight at all.”

 

It also wasn’t precisely true. While his crew had been able to dispatch almost half of their adversaries, it hadn’t been without their own losses. The Phantom himself had butchered eight of his finest, and countless others were strewn across the torn up deck.

 

If look could kill (and no doubt, if the Phantom’s hands weren’t bound) Admiral de Chagny would be dead. Despite the voice of reason in his head warning him to keep his mouth shut, he couldn’t resist gloating some more.

 

“I’ve heard so many stories, you see, about the destruction you’ve created. Entire fleets decimated and cities on fire. Why, you didn’t leave a single soul alive after you attacked that cargo ship last week. I’ve seen grown men cry in terror at the sound of your name. I’ve been told that you are a monster, that men have died from simply gazing upon your unmasked face.”

 

The Admiral stepped closer, and the Phantom growled in warning. Slowly, he raised his arm and reached forward, his long fingers seeking the mask.

 

“I’ve always wondered if the rumours were true,” he murmured, his fingers mere millimetres away from the black porcelain mask.

 

“Admiral! We found something!” One of his crew interrupted. With an almost reluctant air de Chagny’s arm dropped and he turned to face the sailor.

 

“The documents?”

 

“No sir, you’ll need to see this for yourself.”

 

When he looked back at the Phantom he found the man glaring at him with more hatred than he ever imagined possible. Repressing a shudder, he turned and followed his lieutenant.

 

The first thing he noted about the captain’s quarters was how lavish everything was. Silks, bottles of wine and chest overflowing with gold and jewels littered the room. A large bed took up a fair portion of room, but there was also a writing desk and an impressive organ sitting in the corner. Admiral de Chagny’s eyes grew as he started about him in wonder; he’d never seen so much wealth in his life! And he’d been to the palace!

 

Indeed, he had been so astounded that he had almost forgot his purpose for coming down. That was until a startled gasp snapped him back to the task at hand. With reflexes like a cat he whirled around and drew his sword, pointing it in the direction of the noise.

 

He was rather surprised then, to find a cowering girl at the end of his sword.

 

The girl (woman, he now realised) squeaked and immediately threw her hands up in the air.

 

“Please Monsieur, I beg of you, don’t hurt me!” she begged, her dark brown eyes wide and alive with fear.

 

De Chagny shot a look towards his lieutenant who shrugged wordlessly. The woman didn’t look like a pirate, nor did she give the impression that she was a whore. In fact, she was rather well kept if he were being entirely honest with himself. She was young, he determined, and a rather pretty young thing at that. Her skin was a creamy porcelain and her features were soft, yet somehow alluring at the same time. Dressed in a becoming crimson dress, her shinning chocolate curls falling freely around her shoulders she cut a rather fine figure, much too fine to be amongst the likes of these pirates.

 

Nevertheless, Admiral de Chagny was not stupid and beautiful or not this woman was not where she was supposed to be.

 

“Who are you and what on Earth are you doing down here?” he asked, keeping his sword pointed at her face

 

The trembling girl took in a large gulp of air, “My name is Christine Daae, Monsieur.”

 

_February 1691, Perros-Guirec_

 

It was simply a matter of chance that they had stopped there. If he were being entirely honest with himself, he didn’t exactly know why he’d decided to make port there, or even make port at all.

 

But they had pulled down their flag and flown the French flag instead and made port. Anyone with any real naval experience would see through the farce in seconds, the name of the ship itself would give them away. But Perros was not a big port, nor did it have a large naval presence there.

 

He was fairly certain they would pass by unnoticed. Well, his crew and ship could, he himself was an entirely different matter.

 

But he had expected this and had snuck ashore shortly after nightfall.

 

Again, it was simply a matter of chance. Perros was a relatively small port, but there was still an ample supply of inns and taverns. Not that he intended to get drunk, or even really be seen for that matter. He would do as he always did, smuggle his way inside, sit in some dark obscured corner and hopefully be left alone as he had a drink or two.

 

He’d skulked down the streets of Perros searching until he found a large, filthy and decrepit looking tavern. He watched as a large man stumbled out of the doorway, drink still in hand, and proceeded to vomit over the cobblestone street before heading back inside. On the other side of the doorway a man was not so discreetly having his way with a rather over enthusiastic prostitute. Her shrill shrieks of feigned pleasure made him want to claw out his ears, but he made no move to interrupt them.

 

Yes, he decided, as repulsive as the place was, no one would look twice at a man like him in there, and if they did, well, he would not be held accountable for any damages inflicted. Walking carefully to avoid splashing his coat in the pool of sick he strode inside.

 

The tavern was just as grimy on the inside as its exterior indicated, but he had certainly seen worse. It was full, and as such quite noisy with drunken shouting and delighted hoots of laughter. Again, nothing he was unaccustomed to. Hardly anyone even glanced at him, and those that did quickly averted their eyes and clammed up.

 

It was almost funny, in a sense, how people had always (since his childhood) been instinctively so afraid of him, without even seeing the monstrosity that lay beneath his black mask. Perhaps they sensed the death that seemed to linger constantly around him? He bit back a smirk, if they were scared now than they would truly _die_ of fright if he took his mask off!

 

Chuckling softly to himself he approached the bar and ordered a beer for himself, from a clean glass, thank you very much! He received an odd look at the request, but as his eyes narrowed into a glare the barkeep hurriedly acquiesced and went to fetch a clean glass. It was during this time when he caught sight of his friend and quartermaster, Nadir Khan, flirting with a rather pretty young whore in the corner of the room.

 

He wasn’t the only one either. If truth be told the establishment appeared to be more of a brothel than a tavern with the amount of prostitutes lingering around. Of course, none of them ventured anywhere near him, but he was used to this. It would take a rather substantial amount of coin to persuade them to lay with him.

 

When he’d walked in the tavern had been noisy to the point of being deafening, which is why he was more than mildly intrigued when a sudden hush fell across the room. His eyes scanned the floor for the cause of the disruption, seeing nothing out of the ordinary… until his eyes fell upon _her_.

 

He’d almost dismissed her as another whore, but no, she was too well groomed, her dress to modest and she had this timid look about her, which all but confirmed his suspicions. She was beautiful, angelic even, with wild chocolate curls that fell to her waist and a face that must have rivalled Aphrodite’s in loveliness. Above all though, it was her eyes that drew him in. They were dark brown and honest, and so, so innocent looking. Innocence had no place in an establishment such as this, and he wondered why a girl such as her, who was clearly being looked after by somebody, was here at all. Even more bizarre was why everyone had stopped talking at the sight of her.

 

The energy of the room had changed as well. There seemed to be an air of anticipation, like the pregnant pause before a penny drops. His eyes wandered across the room to find Nadir, who seemed to be far more interested in unlacing the corset of his harlot, completely oblivious. He started to speak softly; no doubt some revolting flirtatious nonsense, and the blonde slapped his hand away and hushed him! Infinitely more intrigued he turned his attention back to the attractive young woman.

 

She was clearly nervous, he could see it in the way she held herself, and yet she still smiled. She gave a small, timid nod to the musicians in the corner, who immediately began to play a tune he’d never heard before. After a few short beats she opened her mouth and began to sing.

 

In that single moment he understood. This girl, she sung with a voice so pure and heavenly that he found himself questioning whether angels really did exist.

 

Every single pair of eyes in the room was fixated on her. They were all as enraptured as he was by the beauty in front of them.

 

He had always been a strong believer in sirens, as were most sailors. He’d never seen one, nor heard one for that matter, but he was certain that even they could not sing as lovely as she did.

 

All too soon her voice fell silent as the song came to an end.

 

For a single second there was complete silence.

 

Then, like a giant wave the tavern erupted. People were cheering, stamping their feet and shouting for more. A few people even tossed a few coins her way, which she eagerly snatched out of the air and from the ground. Though he himself made no noise, he found himself desperately wanting for her to continue. Her music, her voice made his heart sing with delight. He was left on the edge of his seat, gripping the table, needing more.

 

The girl blushed and smiling widely she curtsied. With another gesture to the musicians, she leapt gracefully into another ballad of love and loss. She was magnificent when she sung, her entire face lit up with joy and exhilaration. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink and she was unable to keep the grin from her face.

 

He had been travelling the world since he was a child, he’d been to Asia and the middle East and all the way back to Europe. He’d seen some of the most beautiful and exotic women the world had to offer. He’d wanted some of them too, he might look like a monster, but he was a man beneath it all and he had a man’s desires. As he observed the girl in front of him sing he felt the familiar stirrings in his loins. He did not fail to notice the way her ample bosom rose and fell with each breath, nor the way her hips swung almost seductively to the rhythm of the song. She was divine.

 

This pattern continued for an hour or so until the girl, both exhausted and exhilarated from the praise, finally thanked the crowd and bowed her way out. He watched her like a hawk as she crossed the floor and after speaking softly to the barkeep, fled up the stairs to the rooms upstairs.

 

He found himself frowning as she flitted away. It wasn’t good enough; he hadn’t heard music so heavenly in all of his years. He was not about to let it be squandered on the likes of drunkards and scum that sat there. In his mind he imagined the wonders he could do with a voice like hers, the beauty they could create. It wasn’t enough to merely listen; he felt the need to _possess._ He could teach her, and in return he could show her the world…

 

It took mere seconds for the tavern to resume to its usual, rambunctious state of affairs. Abruptly he stood from his seat and strode over to where Nadir was back to fondling the breasts of his blonde whore. When she caught sight of him she let out a small squeak and jerked out of Nadir’s hold.

 

Nadir, obviously annoyed, turned around with the intention of telling whomever it was to fuck off, only to fall silent when he realised it was his captain.

 

“Yes, Erik?” he asked tiredly.

 

“That girl-“

 

“The singing one?”

 

“Yes, yes, her! I want you to find out who she is,” he said.

 

“Christine?” the woman said with an innocent look plastered on her pretty face, “I can tell you about her if you want, but it’ll cost you.”

 

Erik’s eyes flashed and he quickly elbowed Nadir, giving him a pointed look.

 

Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few gleaming gold coins, thrusting them into her eager hands. After tucking them somewhere in her skirts she straightened up and smiled somewhat nervously at him.

 

“Christine’s been here a few months now. She’s a nice kid actually, far too nice for the likes of this place… Her father is sick, poor thing, so she made a deal with Francis. She gets a free room and food if she sings. It draws in a bigger crowd and she gets to keep the money she makes. Everyone’s happy.”

 

She smiled at Nadir but as she looked again at the mask she shivered and a worried look appeared in her eyes, “You, you aren’t gonna hurt her, are you?”

 

Nadir also turned his hazel eyes onto Erik and though he would never speak it, Erik knew he was asking the same question. It was almost comical in a sense. The reason he got along so well with the Persian sailor was because he had no qualms about bloodshed and was good at following orders. To see him question his captain over the thought of harming a mere girl almost made him laugh. Still, he supposed that after that magical performance the girl had quite probably woven some sort of spell on him.

 

He turned his gaze back to the blonde, “ _Of course not, we were merely interested in the poor girls welfare. We will not harm her, nor anyone else in this fine establishment. You will forget this conversation, yes?”_ he whispered, a peculiar lilt to his voice. The blonde’s eyes were dazed and unfocused, but she nodded, murmuring a soft ‘of course’ under her breath.

 

Satisfied that she would do no more prying he yanked Nadir to his feet and dragged him away to a less crowded corner.

 

The second they were out of earshot Nadir started to speak, “What are you planning my friend? You heard Emilie; the girl’s poor and has no family save for the old man. We couldn’t fetch more than a few francs for her.” Then a sudden thought dawned on him and his eyes widened in surprise. “Unless you plan to use her for something else? Erik-“

 

“Silence! It is none of your business what I plan to do with her.”

 

Nadir opened his mouth to argue his point but was silenced by the fierce glare emanating from beneath the mask. “Fine. What is it you ask of me this time?”

 

The corner of Erik’s lips twitched in an odd semblance of a smile, “Very little. We will be leaving a little earlier than I had anticipated. It is your job to inform the crew. If they are not back on _The Siren_ and ready to depart before midnight then we will leave without them.”

 

Nadir nodded and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, chocking slightly when he caught sight of the time, “But Erik, that’s one hour away!”

 

He nodded, his lips curling into a mocking sneer, “Yes it is, I would hurry if I were you.”

 

Nadir bit his tongue and nodded, taking one last look at the Marie sitting dazed and smiling before walking out, muttering curses in Persian as he went.

 

Erik watched him leave before turning his attention back to the tavern. He guessed that Christine was sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs with her father. Finding her would be easy, taking her would be less so. The tavern was busy, and most of the patrons were well beyond drunk, despite the early hour. Still, it would be foolish to assume he could just drag Christine out the front door without any of them noticing. He’d need a distraction… but that could be easily arranged.

 

Sticking mostly to the shadows he crept across the floor and up the staircase, taking them two at a time with his long strides. Once upstairs he counted twelve rooms, five of which were currently in use. Of those five, three rooms had their candles blown out. He was almost certain that Christine was in one of those rooms.

 

He approached the first room, and after a few seconds fiddling with the lock he pushed it open.

 

No Christine, just a poor, threadbare traveller passed out on top of his bed.

 

He exited the room swiftly and silently, shutting the door behind him. He crept up to the next room and picked the lock, keeping an ear out should anyone stumble across him.

 

This time when the door swung open he knew he’d picked the right room, for there were two beds instead of one. Their fire had burnt out, meaning that the room was as dark as the night outside, but his eyes had long ago adapted to see well in the shadows. The old man was sleeping in the bed closest to the door. He was gaunt and had an unhealthy sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. He was snoring, but it was more like a hollow, rattling wheeze than anything else.

 

Erik knew the signs of sickness better than most, and this man was not long for this world. No amount of medicine could help him now. This cemented his resolve, he was helping her, really. After her father died she would no doubt be left penniless and alone, and women like that often turned either to begging or prostitution (usually a combination of both). In a sense he was saving her from that fate… it was a kindness, really. She would be happy with him; she would have no other choice.

 

He strode past him to where Christine lay asleep under what seemed like a mountain of blankets. She looked so small and delicate as she slept, and once again he felt an odd sensation twist in his gut. For a moment he wondered what she was dreaming, for even in sleep her face had the echo of a smile on it. Unable to stop himself he reached out with a trembling hand to brush one stray curl from her face. Her skin was so soft, so warm!

 

She must have felt his touch, for her nose gave a little twitch and she began to stir. He froze like a deer in headlights as her eyed slowly fluttered open, still heavy with weariness.

 

“Papa?” came her tired voice, squinting in the darkness.

 

“ _Go back to sleep, little one,”_ he murmured in a soft voice.

 

Christine nodded her head sleepily and laid her head back down on the pillow. She was asleep in seconds.

 

“Good girl,” he whispered, resisting the urge to touch her again. If they had been alone he might have been able to coax her into coming with him, but here there were too many distractions, too many chances to break the connection, and that of course would send her fleeing in the opposite direction. He couldn’t have that.

 

No, however unfortunate, Christine would have to remain asleep for her retrieval. Perhaps it was better this way, he mused, by the time she woke they would be at sea and far away from this miserable place.

 

Carefully and silently he reached into one of the pockets inside his coat and retrieved a small filled about three quarters of the way with a reddish-brown liquid. Again, he glanced at Christine, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and after a few seconds of calculation he nodded to himself.

 

He uncorked the bottle, and with the gentlest of touches, coaxed Christine’s mouth open. Pressing the rim of the bottle against her soft, pink lips, he gently tipped it upwards until about a third of the mixture had slipped down her throat.

 

The first mouthful she swallowed instinctively, however when the bitter taste began to register Christine screwed up her face and started to cough. He watched as her eyes flew open, and widened in horror as she took in the dark, masked figure standing over her.

 

With catlike reflexes Erik clamped one hand around her mouth before she had time to scream and used his other to massage her throat, forcing her to swallow the rest of the liquid.

 

“Shh, Christine,” he murmured softly. “Be a good girl.”

 

She struggled under his hands, fighting against him with surprising strength for a girl her size. But even as she thrashed about the drugs began to take a hold of her, weakening her limbs. Her eyes, which had only moments before been wide and alert, were now dazed. Slowly but surely her struggles ceased as she fell back into a dreamless sleep.

 

Perfect. If he had calculated correctly, which he had, she would be out for at least five hours. Plenty of time to spirit her away to a better life.

 

He paused for a moment and turned to see if the old man had awoken, but he was still fast asleep, which wasn’t surprising really. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed he turned back to the task at hand. Throwing back the heavy covers and bent over and, as gently as he could manage, he lifted Christine from her bed and into his arms.

 

Trying desperately to ignore the fact that she was dressed only in a thin nightshift that seemed to _cling_ to her skin, he adjusted her so that she would not wake up with bruises in the morning. Then, with one final glance around at the room, they left.

 

He carried her down the hallway without any issues, but as he reached the staircase he knew he would need a distraction to get her out of there. Treating her as if she were made of glass he carefully placed her at his feet, curled up against the wall. As much as he loathed to do it, he would need his hands free for the next task.

 

He had several options, some easier than others. After a few moments of quick deliberation he settled on the simplest and most destructive, for that would cause the most commotion.

 

Hanging from the ceiling was a, rusted, cobwebbed candelabra. Soundlessly he drew a small dagger from his belt, and with impeccable precision he threw it.

 

It sailed high over the heads of the patrons and struck the chain with a loud clang. Several people screamed as the candelabra dropped. A few patrons (the ones that still retained some measure of sobriety, at least) dived from their seats as the heavy candelabra crashed down on the table, breaking it apart. As the table shattered the food and alcohol sitting atop spilled everywhere, soaking into the wood. He watched with barely disguised glee as the candles toppled from their holdings and fell, setting the remnants of the table, and several unlucky drunks, alight.

 

It was glorious, marvellous even, how quickly those bright orange flames spread. People were screaming, crying, some running to help, others running for their lives. He counted two that were already dead on the floor, one crushed under the weight of the candelabra, the other impaled by a shard from the table. It was chaos.

 

Immensely satisfied with himself he straightened up, lifted Christine back into his arms and, sticking to the edges of the room, fled with his little songbird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying it, let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter Two

_February 1691, On board The Siren_

 

She slept like the dead, and Erik watched over her. Part of him longed to play his organ, or maybe his violin, but he dared not for fear it would wake her. She would need her rest; these next few days would be trying for her.

 

It would take her time to accept her new home, as well as her new guardian, but he was certain that she would, in time. He intended to make the transition as easy as possible. She would sing for him, be his companion, and he would provide for her all the jewels, money and luxury that his lifestyle provided.

 

Even now she was sleeping in his bed with silk sheets the colour of blood pooling around her. He was beginning to wonder whether it might have been the softest bed she’d ever slept on. After all, the mattress at the inn had been so thin it was a wonder why they’d bothered with one at all. Had his Christine always been this poor or had her father’s illness driven them from house and home? Already Erik found himself beginning to hate the old man for squandering his daughter’s potential, not to mention forcing her to stay in such a decrepit place as that. And where, for that matter, was the girl’s mother?

 

A light knocking on his door broke him from his thoughts.

 

“Enter,” he said lazily.

 

The door opened and in strode Nadir, a disapproving look on his tanned face.

His eyes slipped past the masked captain, turning instead to the girl asleep in his bed. Quickly he hurried to her side and gently pressed two fingers to the side of her neck. After several moments he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Can I help you, Nadir?” Erik asked coldly.

 

Nadir spun around and marched up to Erik, “What have you done, Erik? Why is she here?”

 

“She is here because I wish her to be.”

 

Nadir’s dark eyes narrowed, “And what do you plan on doing with her, hmm? You are many things Erik, but I never believed-“

 

“Hush you foul creature!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice at a low level, “As I told you before, Christine is none of your concern!” He took a deep breath to calm himself, “If it eases your infernal conscience I have no intentions to harm her, she will be safe with me.”

 

Nadir snorted, “Safe? Safe! Have you lost all sense? She is on a pirate ship surrounded by some of the most bloodthirsty men to sail the seas, present company included! Have you thought how the crew will react to such a beauty being on this ship? Or what will happen if we are attacked for that matter?!”

 

The yellow eyes behind the mask darkened, “The crew would be wise to remember their position. Christine is under my protection; anyone who harms a hair on her head will pay _dearly_.”

 

Nadir sighed exasperatedly, “But _why_ is she here?”

 

Another malicious insult was on the tip of his tongue when the soft sound of rustling silk made the both of them snap to attention.

 

Christine was waking up.

 

“Leave,” Erik commanded as he stood from his chair.

 

“Erik, I beg of you-“

 

“Leave! Now Nadir!” he hissed, his eyes focused on the waking girl.

 

Nadir followed his gaze, and for a moment looked to argue. One fierce glare from his captain however had him thinking better of it. With a dramatic sigh Nadir strode from the quarters, slamming the door shut as he left.

 

A soft groan broke the silence. Erik stood, smoothed down his shirt and jacket, and walked to Christine’s side.

 

He watched with bated breath as her eyelids slowly fluttered open, still heavy from the effects of the drugs. She blinked blearily once, twice, three times. As the reality of her situation set in her beautiful doe eyes widened in fear. Her hands clutched tightly at her blankets and every muscle in her body tensed like a spring. Then, slowly, she turned her head to face him.

 

A multitude of expressions flickered across her face; fear, confusion, distrust, panic. Finally she schooled her features into a blank mask, and in a trembling voice, asked, “W-where am I?”

 

It wasn’t the question he expected, but he supposed it was logical enough.

 

“You’re… safe, I promise,” he murmured.

 

She didn’t believe him, he could tell, but she wasn’t fighting back. Not yet at least. Even in the dim lighting of his cabin he could see the distrust written all over her pretty little face.

 

“Why am I here? And where is my papa?” she said, glancing around the room as if she expected to find him standing in some dark corner of the room.

 

He paused, for a moment, gazing at her with curious eyes, “You are here because there was no where else for you to go.”

 

It was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Christine began to panic again. “What do you mean? Where is my father? I want to see my father!” she cried, frantically clutching at the sheets on the bed as if they were the only thing tethering her to this world.

 

Perhaps she already sensed that her father was long gone, that she was all alone in the world once again. It must have been painful for her, he realised, to lose someone so close.

 

“Calm yourself, child. Tell me what you remember about last night.

 

“I had dinner with my father, then I went downstairs to sing for an hour or so.”

Her expression turned thoughtful as she again glanced at his mask, “You, you were there, weren’t you? I remember seeing you, I think… You were sitting in the corner, it was dark, but I could see your…” she trailed off uneasily.

 

She had seen his mask. It wasn’t an easy thing to forget, he supposed. People were always so curious about it, always wondering what he was hiding beneath the white material. Even now he could see the curiosity swirling in her eyes, the questions on the tip of the tongue… People had died for that same curiosity, and if Christine was to spend the foreseeable future with him, well it was better for the both of them that she not know.

 

“And then?” he prodded gently, but with a commanding tone.

 

Christine blushed a bright crimson and immediately dropped her gaze, “And then I took my earnings and went back to my room and went to bed.”

 

Ah, so she did not remember their midnight encounter after all. Perhaps that was for the best.

 

“Shortly after you left a brawl broke out in the tavern, and in the scuffle a fire was accidentally started,” he began in a level, dethatched voice. “It spread quickly, too quickly to contain it. Many people died.”

 

Christine’s eyes had grown wide in horror, “A-and my father?”

 

“I am sorry, the inn keeper, Francis, I believe his name was, retrieved you, but by the time he went back in for your father it was too late. Neither of them returned. I am so sorry Christine.”

 

xxx

 

She didn’t speak for four days. She was too lost in her grief to do anything other than sleep, eat and bathe, though she only did that at his gentle insistence. He, ever the gentleman, gave up his quarters for her, moving instead into Nadir’s cabin in the meantime, while the latter was shifted onto one of the empty hammocks in the brig. During the daylight hours Christine simply sat, staring vacantly at the walls of the cabin, lovely, but lifeless. At night however, he could hear her sobbing herself to sleep. Somehow even her tears, as heartbreaking as they were, were still beautiful, her mournful cries, angelic.

 

He was a patient man, but even he had his limits. He had brought her here to sing, not to waste away in her grief. He was beginning to become agitated, angry even, every time he walked into his cabin to find her in that doll like state. So, naturally, he was more than a little surprised to walk into the cabin one morning to find Christine awake, dressed and relatively alert.

 

“Good morning, Christine,” he murmured, placing her breakfast tray upon the bedside cabinet.

 

“I am not stupid, you know,” she said softly, as if she weren’t really speaking to him, but rather talking to herself. “People always think I’m some stupid little naïve girl who can’t make a single decision for herself, but I’m not!”

 

His yellow eyes appraised her with some confusion, where had this come from? For weeks she had done nothing, said nothing and yet today she was acting as if none of that had ever happened. “I don’t think you’re stupid, quite the opposite actually,” he replied slowly, unsurely even.

 

Christine snorted in a very unladylike manner. “I hardly believe that. I know you’re a pirate,” she spat the word like it was poison. “But for the life of me I cannot figure out why you have brought me here.” Her eyes, which up until now had seemed vacant and lost, were staring up at him with an almost fiery intensity.

 

“And what makes you think I’m a pirate?” he asked softly, poisonously, drawing closer to her side.

 

Christine flinched, but to her credit she didn’t drop her gaze, “We’re on a ship, you’re certainly not from the French navy, that much is obvious, and if you were a merchant you would not have been at the tavern, there are far finer ones across town,” she blurted out, biting her lip and averting her eyes the second she’d stopped speaking. She was shivering ever so slightly, yet the room was warm enough, she was afraid of him. Disappointing yes, he didn’t want her fear, but certainly not unexpected.

 

“And,” he probed when she risked another glance at his face.

 

 “…And your mask. No man of good reputation would conceal himself in such a manner.” These last few words came out in little more than a squeak, and her already small form curled in on itself ever so subtly.

 

Erik’s eyes, such a peculiar shade of yellow, flashed with anger.

 

“Believe me, Christine, nothing I am hiding behind this mask is for the sake of my _reputation_. Do you want to see what I’m _hiding_ Christine? It is not a pretty sight I can assure you! Is that what you want?” he hissed, gripping the edge of his mask with bony fingers.

 

Sitting on the edge of the bed Christine shook her head rapidly, “No, no, no I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she cried, scuttling all the way back against the headboard.

 

Erik snorted and rolled his eyes, but ultimately backed down, stepping away from the bed. He didn’t want her terrified, just compliant.

 

“Why did you bring me here?”

 

Her voice was so quiet that he almost missed it entirely. 

 

“I want you to sing.” He said it so simply, as it was the most obvious truth in the world.

 

Despite her fear of the man standing before her, Christine still managed to look at him as if he was mentally ill.

 

“Y-you want me to sing? I don’t understand,” she mumbled.

 

Erik sighed wistfully, “You have the voice of an angel, Christine. In all my years I’ve never heard any sound so pure, so beautiful.” His lips quirked into a soft, indulgent smile and he sat on the edge of her bed, leaning closer to her. “In another life, I could have made you famous, the world would have fallen to its knees just to hear one melody from your lips.... The world may never get to hear your voice, but that does not mean it should be squandered, left to wither and die in obscurity.”

 

Erik wasn’t entirely sure what he expected, but Christine staring at him with barely disguised discomfort wasn’t it.

 

“I don’t want to sing, take me back to Perros!”

 

Beneath the mask his face contorted into a snarling monstrosity, but all Christine could see were his eyes, blazing with anger.

 

“There is nothing for you in Perros, your father is dead!”

 

Christine blanched, but even as tears crept into her eyes, she did not back down. Her father had always told her she was a stubborn child, and it would be the death of her. Perhaps he was right… But that didn’t mean she would be so easily swayed.

 

“I have friends in Perros, the innkeep-“

 

“Also dead!” Erik cut her off.

 

Christine’s face reddened and her fists clenched in her lap, “I have other friends! I want to go to Perros, take me back now!” she demanded, her voice strong, unwavering.

 

Erik snorted, “You were the daughter of a penniless, senile old man. Everyone who may have cared about you is long dead. If you go back to Perros all that will be waiting for you is a life in destitute sleeping on the streets, whoring yourself out to keep warm for the winter!” he snarled.

 

 The tears that had pooled in her eyes were now spilling silently down her face as she stared at him in mute horror. She knew that he was right, she had to be. A girl like Christine, beautiful, innocent, naïve, she would be eaten alive out in the world on her own. That was why she needed him to care for her, nurture her. Still, even in his victory he felt an uncomfortable twinge in his heart. He hated to see her cry, and it was even worse to know that he was the cause of it, but it had to be said. She needed to know that he was her salvation. Kneeling beside the bed he reached out and grasped on of her hands with both of his.

 

“My dear, there is no life for you in Perros, but I can take care of you. You will never want for anything; all I ask is that you sing for me.”

 

For one brief, shining moment, Erik thought she would accept. But as he gazed on her lovely face her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed red. Violently she ripped her hand away from his.

 

“So long as you keep me in here, trapped as a prisoner I will _never_ sing for you!”

 

Erik sneered at her, “Perhaps a night in the brig might change your mind, hmm?”

 

Her eyes widened and the little colour on her cheeks drained, but she fixed him a defiant stare, “A cage is a cage, whether gilded or not.”

 

So throw her in the brig he did.

 

He was furious, but not heartless. He allowed Nadir to bring her meals three times a day, he gave her the cleanest cell and ensured that she had warm blankets to sleep with, but otherwise her cell was empty.

 

Each night after she had finished her dinner he went to her cell and asked if she had come to her senses yet. Each night she silently glared at him from her corner in the cell. Yet, even in her hatred she was more beautiful than he could have imagined.

 

She refused to even speak to him. Oh, she spoke to Nadir when he brought her food, thanked him politely and what not, but he was only ever met with silence from her. He could spend hours in there, deprive her of everything but his company, but she remained silent and hateful. Half of him admired her for it; the other half cursed her for her childish stubbornness.

 

But Erik was nothing if not patient. He merely needed to bide his time, his beautiful little siren would sing for him one way or another.

 

xxx

 

It took two weeks for something to change, and in the end Erik had very little to do with it.

 

He was a pirate first and foremost, and as such it was only a matter of time until they encountered another ship, a British merchant ship no doubt heading east to sell whatever it was they were storing on board. And really, what sort of pirate would he be if he didn’t attack?

 

In the end, it hadn’t really mattered whether he wanted to steal from them or not. The merchant vessel had no hopes of outrunning _The Siren_ ; their only hope was to attack and try to fend the pirates. The second that _The Siren_ raised their colours the British ship changed course for a full frontal assault.

 

Erik was surprised in the end, the British crew had given him more of a fight than he’d expected. A few plucky sailors had even managed to board his ship, and they’d paid for it with their lives.

 

It wasn’t a particularly difficult battle, but Erik relished it nonetheless. He was ruthless on the battlefield, slashing, hacking and carving his way through the hoard. Few could match his ruthlessness, or his gracefulness for that matter.  If killing was an art form, then Erik was most certainly a master. The Angel of death, someone had once called him.

 

By the time the last sailor surrendered (and promptly beheaded; he had no use for prisoners, except for one) he was covered in blood and grinning like a madman.

 

“Search the ship, strip it bare and sink it,” he commanded, then he turned on his heel and headed below deck.

 

He found his darling Christine curled up on her makeshift bed, slowly rocking herself to and fro. She looked up at the sound of his arrival and with a pang in his heart he noticed the tear tracks running down her cheeks. He yearned to comfort her, but this was not the time for comfort, it was time for him to get what he wanted.

 

“I-is it over?” she asked in a trembling, quiet voice when he unlocked the door and walked in.

 

He almost smiled at the sound of it, so refreshing after weeks of her silence.

 

Instead of answering her, however, he posed a different question. “Do you know who attacked us, my dear?”

 

She shook her head, but didn’t speak.

 

“Pirates from Singapore.” Christine blanched and he continued, “Do you know what they would have done if they’d found you here, Christine?”

 

Christie dropped her gaze to the floor and curled up tighter. “They - they would have killed me,” she murmured.

 

Erik scoffed and sat down on the bed beside her. Gently he placed his hand on her shoulder, which belied the harshness of his next words. “No, my dear, much worse than that. They would have taken you, passed you around the men like a common whore. After that who knows? They might have sold you to a slaver, thrown you overboard; they might have even kept you around for a bit of entertainment now and then. They would not have been gentle, they would not have been kind.”

 

He felt Christine flinch under his hand.

 

“Have I not kept you safe, Christine? I took you to protect you; you have no one left but me to care for you. I keep you fed, clothed, warm and dry, and all I ask in return is that you sing for me, is that really so bad?” he murmured in a soothing voice.

 

Slowly she unfurled and lifted her head to look at him.

 

“I-if I sing for you, will you let me go back to the room?” she asked in a hesitant voice.

 

Tenderly he brushed her tears away, marvelling at the softness of her skin. “Of course, Christine. You’ll have anything you could possibly want.”

 

“What would you like me to sing?”

 

“Anything,” he breathed.


	4. Chapter Three

_October 21 st 1694, On board The Siren_

 

Admiral de Chagny led Christine up to the deck of _The Siren_ , his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

 

“Sir?” a tall, broad shouldered lieutenant asked quizzically when he spotted the pair crossing the deck.

 

“Miss Daae will be returning with us to France,” he replied curtly.

 

“Of course, Admiral. We found the documents, they’re being loaded on board as we speak.”

 

De Chagny smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, “Good man.”

 

He was about to say something else when an enraged scream ripped through the air. Raoul spun around to find the Phantom on his feet, struggling viciously against his bonds. For someone so thin he had a surprising amount of fight in him.

 

“What are you doing? Restrain him!” he snapped, glaring at the men just standing around, gaping at the scene in front of them. The soldiers leapt forward on his command and managed to force the Phantom to his knees, though it took four of them to manage it. Even then he was only kept down by the barrels of several guns pointing down at him.

 

For a moment he felt the Phantom’s eyes on him and he shivered. There was hatred in those eyes, hatred stronger than he’d ever felt in his life. The Phantom’s eyes did not linger on him, settling instead on Christine.

 

“Don’t you touch her!” he hissed, speaking to Raoul. “Or I swear I will kill you.”

 

Christine tensed, biting down on her bottom lip as she raised her eyes to meet the Phantom’s cold yellow eyes.

 

“ _Christine_ ,” he crooned, “ _Whatever he’s promised you is a lie. He’ll only hurt you in the end. You belong to me, with me! Come back to me, my love._ ”

 

Christine’s eyes glazed over and she made to walk towards him. Before she could even take a step Raoul wrapped his hand around her wrist.

 

“Don’t, Christine,” he said, dropping the formalities in the heat of the moment. “He’s manipulating you. I swear on the life of our King that I mean you no harm.” She hesitated, and that was enough for Raoul. “Listen to me, I will take you far away from here. He will never see you again, I promise.”

 

Raoul’s face was open and earnest, and despite having to reason to do so, Christine trusted him. “I believe you,” she murmured.

 

“Go to the ship, Miss Daae. I will be there shortly.”

 

Christine nodded and gave him a small smile before glancing one last time at the Phantom. He didn’t miss the way that fear flickered over her face, and there was something else as well, but before he could discern what it was Christine had moved on.

 

“Christine? Christine, don’t you dare walk away from me! I’M ALL YOU HAVE LEFT!”

 

Christine kept on walking, and Raoul felt a swell of pride for her.

 

He waited until he saw her escorted below deck to turn his attention back on the Phantom.

 

“Admiral, what do you want done with the crew?”

 

Ignoring the heat of the Phantom’s glare he studied the remaining men tied up in front of him and sighed. They were pirates, all of them, sailing under one of the most notorious and evil men on the seven seas. That alone sealed their fate.

 

But de Chagny wasn’t one for bloodshed if he could avoid it. He knew the law, and the punishment for breaking it, but that punishment didn’t have to come from his hand. “Take them to the brig, they will stand trial when we return to France. Not him though,” he said, nodding his head towards the Phantom, “He stays.”

 

He watched in silence as the pirates were hauled up and carted over to _The Intrepid._

 

“Are you going to kill me now, _Admiral_?” the Phantom asked as the last of his crew disappeared from sight. “Because if you don’t I promise you that I will find you and kill you myself.”

 

Now that they were alone (minus the soldiers holding him at gunpoint) Raoul took the time to study him. He looked like a caged animal, wild and angry, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Though Raoul could only see his eyes and his bottom lip thanks to the mask he knew that the pirate was snarling at him. Even at his mercy, the Phantom was still dangerous, not to mention terrifying. He shuddered to think about the horrors that Christine must have faced at the hands of that monster.

 

“I very much doubt that,” he replied in a cold voice.

 

“You won’t take Christine from me, she is _mine_! She will always be mine!” he snarled.

 

Raoul’s face screwed up in revulsion, “Whatever you have done to that woman, and whatever you or she may believe, you have no ounce of a claim on her!”

 

The corner of the Phantom’s lips twitched upwards in a mocking smirk, “Would you like to know what I did to her, Admiral?”

 

Raoul clenched his fists so tight that his knuckle turned white, but he didn’t rise to the bait, he wouldn’t give the freak the satisfaction.

 

Instead, he addressed two of the men holding his prisoner at gunpoint. “Dupont, Etienne, tie him to the mast.”

 

It was an odd request but his men knew better than to question him, so they dragged the struggling Phantom to the ship’s mast. He fought against them like a madman, but those yellow eyes never left Raoul’s face. It turned the blood in his veins to ice, but he met the stare with a fierce glare of his own. Dupont took a fist to the face while Etienne barely managed to avoid a knee to the groin, but in the end they managed to secure the prisoner. With a quick nod he dismissed the pair.

 

Slowly, Raoul walked up to him. “I’ve always believed myself to be a forgiving man, but I sincerely hope you burn in hell for what you have done.” Without giving him a chance to reply Raoul promptly turned on his heel and marched across the deck.

 

He was almost at the gangway when he heard a voice whisper in his ear. “Haven’t you heard, Admiral? Hell is empty, all the devils are here.”

 

A cold tingle ran down his spine and he kept walking, the Phantom’s laughter ringing in his ears.

 

“Send her to the depths,” he grunted as he passed the boatswain.

 

The bewildered man nodded and began shouting out commands. Raoul paid him no heed, choosing instead to go and find Christine.

 

Vaguely he registered the sounds and vibrations of the cannons firing, but he was far too preoccupied to pay any attention to it. Eventually he found Christine sitting delicately on the bed in his quarters.

 

Christine looked up at the sound of his footsteps. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he found her, but her sitting there playing anxiously with the ends of her curls was not it.

 

She blushed at the sight of him, quickly smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her dress and gave him a tense smile. “I’m sorry, is this your room? I didn’t mean to intrude, but the officer led me here and well…” she trailed off nervously, her eyes flickering between his face and her hands.

 

Impropriety be damned Raoul sat next to her and took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, “It’s over, Miss Daae.”

 

She stared at him with wide eyes, “He’s…”

 

“Dead,” Raoul confirmed.

 

“Oh,” she said, and then she burst into tears.

 

_February 27 th 1696, _

 

Christine stood in front of the mirror staring at her reflection.

 

She was wearing a rather pretty dress, cream and gold with intricate beading and lacy sleeves. It’s the height of fashion at the moment, with a tight bodice (a little too tight in her opinion) that gave an excellent view of her décolletage that flared out into a wide skirt. Around her neck was a string of pearls and from her ears dangled two real diamonds. Personally she thought them a little ostentatious, but Raoul had given them to her as a gift especially for tonight, it would have been rude not to wear them.

 

She looked beautiful, but the seemingly endless gifts of dresses and jewellery reminded Christine of _him_. He loved to see her dressed in pretty clothes and constantly showered her with pretty trinkets. He saw it as a way of showing her his _affection_.

 

She was saved from any further musings when the door to her room was thrown open and a blonde head popped in. It was Henrietta, Raoul’s younger sister.

 

“Oh Christine, you look simply stunning!” she said with a grin, practically bouncing up and down with glee. She was a sweet thing, only fourteen and already very becoming, with a head full of golden curls, sky blue eyes and the same disarming smile that Raoul had.

 

Christine did a little twirl and smiled warmly at the girl, “You think so?”

 

“You’ll be the loveliest girl at the ball! Which I suppose is the point, it being your engagement party and all!”

 

Christine eyed Henrietta’s own gown, a lovely dress the colour of pink roses made of Chiffon. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but you will be a close second.”

 

Henrietta preened at the praise, forgetting for a moment why she was there until sudden realisation struck. “Oh, Isabelle told me to tell you that everyone is waiting for you to make your big entrance.”

 

“Thank you, Henri, I’ll be down in just a moment, you go on.” Henrietta nodded and skipped out of the room, leaving Christine once again with her thoughts.

 

Isabelle, Raoul’s older married sister had thrown herself into wedding planning the very second Raoul had proposed to Christine, and it was she who was the mastermind behind the engagement party. It was a little over the top in her opinion, but Christine was learning that this was the norm for people like Raoul and his family. She supposed it was preferable to them opposing the marriage straight out, which was what she had expected. After all, she was an orphan and a poor one at that.

 

But when they’d returned to France she had nothing and nowhere to go. Erik had lied to her about many things, but he’d told the truth about Perros. There was nothing left for her. The tavern was gone, as were any friends she might have had. Raoul, ever the gentleman, refused to see her left with nothing and offered her a place to stay with him.

 

Raoul was sweet, kind and gentle and he loved her, more than she ever thought possible. He was a good man, and she truly did love him.

 

She glanced once more into the mirror to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be and frowned when she saw that one of her curls had escaped the bun that pulled back the front half of her hair, leaving the curls underneath free. Quickly she pinned it back in place and Christine smoothed down her skirts and left her room.

 

The ball downstairs was already in full swing. Raoul had been waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, dressed to the nines. She felt more beautiful than she ever had before as she began to walk down the staircase, elegant too. When he saw her his face lit up with awe as if he were gazing upon one of the seven wonders of the world. Christine blushed, Raoul never failed to make her feel like she was the most stunning woman in the room. A hush fell upon the gathered crowd as she descended, everyone’s eyes fixated upon her. She saw a few of her friends in the crowd, Meg, Emmanuelle, Isabelle and Sierra among others. She smiled warmly at them as she took Raoul’s hand, marvelling at the diamond ring on her finger. Together they walked into the centre of the room

 

“You look magnificent Christine,” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling her neck with his nose.  It was entirely improper of course, but Raoul had never cared to be proper around her, their relationship had always been a little unconventional. “I love you.”

 

Before Christine had a chance to reply they found themselves standing before Phillipe, the Comte and Raoul’s older brother. While Raoul’s features were soft and fair, Phillipe’s were hard, though not unkind. When she had first met him Christine had been wary of the imposing man, so unlike his younger brother. It was clear that he did not approve of Raoul bringing Christine home with him, (a stray, he’d called her if her memory served her correctly) though he allowed it nonetheless after Raoul had begged on his knees. Over the years he had softened towards her and now as he stood before the two with a glass of champagne in hand he indulged her with a rare smile.

 

“I’m not a man of many words,” he began, addressing the crowd before him. “So I’ll keep this nice and short. To Raoul and Christine, to their love and to what my wife assures me will be the biggest wedding in all of Paris!” he said with a short laugh, raising his glass for a toast.

 

“To Raoul and Christine!” the crowd echoed back.

 

Raoul’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his side and Christine couldn’t help the grinning because she was just so happy.

 

“Well isn’t that just _sweet_ ,” a decidedly mocking voice called out seemingly from nowhere. Christine felt the blood in her veins turn to ice, it couldn’t be, he was dead, Raoul had promised her.

 

The guests were gazing around the room, trying to find the source of the heavenly voice. They didn’t know him like she did, it was fruitless to search, he could be anywhere.

 

Beside her Raoul tensed, wishing to god that he had brought his sword with him. But surely it was impossible, the Phantom was dead, there was no way he could have survived the sinking of _The Siren_. Ever so subtly he pushed Christine behind him, shielding her body with his.

 

“Ah yes, the gallant Admiral so quick to be the defender, the protector,” the voice called, this time from the left of the ballroom. “It’s quite humorous that a man who claims to abhor pirates can so easily steal that which rightfully belongs to another, don’t you think?”

 

The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves. Was this some joke, an elaborate prank, perhaps? The Comte, it appeared, shared their suspicions. “Brother, what is going on? Is this some kind of a joke?” Phillipe whispered quietly, his eyes darting around the room.

 

Raoul ignored him, more concerned with keeping Christine safe. “Get the guards, now!” he hissed.

 

Meanwhile Christine was doing her very best not to panic. Even if she couldn’t see him, she could feel his burning gaze on her, as if he were staring right at her soul. He was back, and she was utterly helpless.

 

“I think you’ll find, Comte,” the voice sneered, “That your guards are currently indisposed.”

 

“What do you want?” Phillipe interjected, turning in a slow circle. “Tell us what you want and then be gone!”

 

For a single moment the silence was so loud that Christine could hear her own heartbeat ringing in her ears.

 

“ _Have you missed me, my dear_?” the voice whispered right into her ear softly enough so that only she could hear him. Christine gasped, flinching slightly, but remained stationary. Raoul gave her a sidelong glance and cocked his eyebrow. Christine minutely shook her head and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

 

“What I want,” the disembodied voice began, “Is for what was mine to be returned to me.”

 

Christine swallowed nervously, her eyes darting through the crowd. Any second now he would appear.

 

“ _Your Erik has missed you very much_ ,” the voice next to her ear continued. The implications of his statement made her shiver.

 

Phillipe’s brow furrowed, “And what, pray tell, is that?”

 

Raoul could have slapped him. Was his brother a complete imbecile? Upon their return to Paris he had told Phillipe everything, the entire story. He simply refused to have any secrets between them. Playing along with the devil would do no one here any good, least of all Christine.

 

“My wife!” The doors that led to the kitchen were thrown open, and in he strode. Tall, slender and terrifying, his white mask gleaming in the bright lights of the ballroom. People leapt out of his way as he strode towards the centre of the room, not one single person making an attempt to stop him.

 

His eyes never left Christine as he marched forward, a cold sneer on his face. She used this time to study him and found that he looked exactly as he had before down to the cape. The mask he was wearing was the same one he’d worn when he’s first taken her.

 

Vividly she remembered the first time she saw him without it. She’d always been such a curious child; her Papa had always told her that one day it would land her in trouble.

 

_May 1691, On board The Siren_

Christine was not raised to be barbaric or rude, he had told her right from the very beginning that the mask hid some deformity. She respected his wishes to never touch his mask, but still she wondered what was under that white porcelain mask. Was it truly so horrific? Could it really be as bad as he claimed? Every time she gazed upon the porcelain mask the questions and curiosity niggled at her, refusing to go away. Erik knew all of her, inside and out, and yet he refused to show her all of himself. He had all of these secrets, and yet he demanded to know all of hers.

 

For a few months she managed to keep her curiosity at bay, until one day, her curiosity won out. She had to know, she had to see Erik’s true face.

 

She’d been singing for him, as she did every night, She waited until his eyes fluttered shut, lost in the music. She struck quickly like a viper, ripping the mask off.

 

It was worse than she could have ever imagined it.

 

His face was sallow and his yellow eyes sunken into his skull. His skin was sinewy, one half of his face looked as if it had been burned and melted off, the other looked as if there were no skin at all, merely bone. The worst of all was his nose, or lack of one. In its place was a wide gaping hole that reminded her of a skull she’d been fascinated with as a child. It was worse than horrifying, it was sickening. Her stomach turned at the sight of it.

 

Christine had screamed and tried to run, but he’d grabbed her arm before she could flee from the cabin and pulled her back to him with a grip so tight it would bruise. He’d yelled at her, cursed her for her damnable curiosity and then he glared at her with those wild, mad eyes, “A monster loves you, Christine. It changes nothing! You belong to Erik!” He raged and snarled like a rabid beast and for a brief moment, she thought he might actually kill her in his fury. It was only when Nadir appeared in the doorway and demanded that he release her immediately that he did.

 

Christine didn’t wait to be told twice, she fled from his room into hers, slamming and locking the door behind her. She’d spent the night a trembling and sobbing mess, trying desperately to forget the hideous image imprinted in her mind. Would he kill her now, because she had unmasked him? Would he hate her, punish her?

 

It turned out that he did neither, choosing instead to simply avoid her at all costs, which she had to admit he was rather adept at considering they were on a ship together in the middle of the ocean.

 

However, like all addicts, Erik found it difficult to stay away from that which he craved for long.

 

He came to Christine early one morning after she’d finished breakfast. She was sitting at the writing desk in her room when a knock had sounded at the door.   


“Come in, Nadir,” she called out, still focused on the book in front of her.

 

The door opened. “Does Nadir often make a habit of visiting your chambers, my dear?”

 

Christine jumped from her seat in surprise, “Erik, I – no, well, uh…” she trailed off uncomfortably. He was staring at her with an unreadable face, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, much less whether he was still angry with her.

 

Erik sighed, “My apologies, Christine, I did not mean to startle you. I came to… to apologize for my behaviour that night. I was monstrous and should not have acted as I did, nor was it my intention to cause you any harm, physical or otherwise.‘’ His words were stiff and short, she suspected that he was quite unused to apologizing, but there was sincerity in them. “Please forgive me, my dear.”

 

Christine breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t here to hurt her; mentally she berated herself for thinking that he ever would. Breathing calmly now, Christine replied. “I forgive you, on the condition that you also forgive me, for I acted horribly as well.”

 

His eyes searched her face for any sign of deceit, and upon finding none he gave her a short nod.

 

“You will sing for me tonight, I have missed your voice and your company greatly, my dear.”

 

She nodded quickly and without another word Erik swept out of the room. Christine had thought that that would be the end of it, that they would now return to the uneasy truce they’d had before she had unmasked him.

 

She was wrong.

 

Before she had free reign of the ship, and was friendly enough with one or two of the crew. Now the crew avoided her as if she had the plague. She hounded Nadir until he finally relented and told her that Erik had threatened severe punishment for anyone who so much as looked at her twice. Nadir was the only exception, and for that at least Christine was grateful. The Persian pirate was surprisingly kind and gentle and told her the most fascinating tales.

 

It was Erik himself who had changed the most. Before he had always limited his touches to her person, avoided them at all if possible. Ever since she had unmasked him those touches came much more frequently. A hand on her shoulder, brushing a stray hair from her face, a light caress as he brushed past her. They were never inappropriate, perhaps just a little over familiar and a bit strange. The touches were one thing; it was the way he looked at her that had her worried. He looked at her like a man dying of thirst in the desert would look at an oasis. It seemed as if he was always watching her, some nights Christine would wake in the middle of the night with the strangest sensation that someone had been in her room, only to remember that it was impossible, for she had locked the door.

 

When not fighting other vessels or ashore, Erik spent most of his time with her. Whether she was singing, reading (for he taught her to do that as well) or even helping in the kitchen he remained steadfast by her side. Even when he spent his time composing he insisted on her presence by her side. The only time he left her alone was at the nights, after she was secured in his cabin. Months passed in this manner, and Christine began to wonder if this was to be her life now. Until one night, everything changed.

 

_The Siren_ had spent two days docked at a port somewhere in the Caribbean, during which time Christine had been stuck on board while Erik, Nadir and the rest of the crew went ashore. She’d begged Erik to let her go with them, promising that she would be no trouble at all, that she would stay by his side the whole time. Alas, he’d refused, stating that he needed to acquire a number of things and that having her there with him would only be a distraction. Later she found that she was glad of this, because when Erik and Nadir had returned the first night they were both in foul moods.

 

They were about half way through dinner and Erik had barely spoken more than a few words to her, and Christine could bear it no more.

 

“Erik?” she tentatively began after putting her cutlery down on her plate.

 

“Will you sing for me tonight, my dear?” he asked her instead with a wistful voice.

 

“But I sang this morning before you left,” she replied in an uncertain voice. Never, not since the very early days of her captivity had Erik made her sing more than once a day.

 

His eyes flashed up to meet hers, and she felt a distinct chill run down her spine. “And? Do you have something better to do?”

 

Her heart skipped a beat. His voice was wavering dangerously close to threatening, and if she continued down that path he would be in a foul mood for the rest of the evening. “No! No of course not. If you want me to sing tonight, I will,” she said hurriedly, before he lost his temper.

 

He sighed contentedly and relaxed back into his chair, apparently placated by her response. “If it were up to me you would always be singing, there is no finer sound on this earth.”

 

Christine felt a flash of irritation at his comment and despite the warning bells in her head telling her it was a bad idea, she couldn’t let it slide. “Is that all I am to you? A pretty songbird you can keep caged? Tell me, Erik, if I couldn’t sing one day, if I lost my voice, what would you do? Throw me overboard?” she snapped.

 

His mask hid his facial expression well, but by the way that his eyes had narrowed she guessed that he was glaring at her. “Of course, because I look like a monster I must act like one too! Do you honestly believe I could do such a thing?!”

 

Shoving her plate away Christine jumped to her feet, “It has nothing to do with how you look, and I know you’ve killed people before!”

 

Erik growled and stood up, towering over her. “Men, Christine!”

 

She scoffed, “Oh, and I’m supposed to believe you’ve never killed a woman before?”

 

The silence hung heavy in the air.

 

“Whatever low opinions you may have of me, I would never lay a hand on you, Christine,” he said stiffly. “And while your voice is breathtaking, it is but one of the many reasons I treasure your company.” He turned to leave, but Christine reached out and grabbed his hand before he could go. He stared at her hand for a moment before slowly raising his eyes to meet her gaze. She was frowning softly at him, her brown eyes swimming in regret.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. Their relationship was unconventional at best, but she wasn’t a horrible person.

 

Erik lifted his fingers to gently cup her cheek, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile. “There are very few things I could not forgive you for, my love.” Her heart lurched a little at the epithet, but she remained silent. “Forget about singing tonight, you should get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for the both of us.”

 

He left without another word, leaving Christine to ponder what on earth he was talking about. She didn’t have to wait long, for when she woke up the following morning she was greeted with the sight of an elegant white dress and a veil lying atop the writing desk.


	5. Chapter Four

_February 1696, Paris_

 

“What do you mean your wife?” Phillipe spluttered as the Phantom inched closer.

 

Erik barely glanced at him, choosing instead to focus his gaze on Raoul. “You didn’t tell him? I can’t imagine how you could fail to mention that the woman you’re intending to marry already has a husband,” he said coldly. His yellow eyes flickered to Christine, who quickly dropped her gaze to the floor.

 

Raoul glared at him, “You were supposed to be dead, I didn’t think it was important.”

 

“Yet here I am.”

 

“Despite my best efforts.”

 

Erik scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Your best efforts were pitiful.” Out of the corner of his eye he spied one of the men edging towards the door and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see I brought some friends with me tonight, and they won’t take kindly to you leaving.” As he spoke half a dozen rough looking men armed with pistols and swords entered the room, fanning out to surround the room.

 

The man’s face blanched and he quickly slid back in line.

 

“You can threaten these good people all you like, but you will be leaving here alone tonight or you won’t be leaving at all. Christine never belonged to you in the first place.” The tension was thick in the air. The Phantom growled in warning, but Raoul straightened up his spine and continued. “Your ‘marriage’ was a farce!”

 

Christine’s hand tightened around his, clenching it as if his hand were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. “Erik, please,” she whispered, but the Phantom paid no heed to her words.

 

“My marriage is perfectly legal and binding, thank you very much. Performed by a Captain of a ship, me, signed with over a dozen witnesses and _consummated_ ,” he said with a lascivious smirk, turning to face Christine who in turn turned bright red and glared at him. How dare he do this here, in front of her friends and soon to be family? Did he really have such little regard for her?

 

The glare wavered slightly when Raoul’s hand slipped from hers. Her heart gave a painful tug and she turned to face him, only to find that he was staring straight ahead, ignoring her entirely. “Raoul, please don’t do this,” she whispered quietly so only he could hear her, _not in front of everyone._ She could feel all their eyes on her, judging her for something that they had no hope of ever understanding.

 

Erik, however, appeared to still possess excellent hearing. “Ah, my beautiful wife failed to mention this, I see.”

 

Raoul clenched his fists tightly; “I will kill you for every finger you ever laid on my _fiancée_.”

 

Erik threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing around the large ballroom. “Unfortunately for you, Vicomte, you came to this ball unarmed. I however, did not.” With that he reached into his cloak and pulled out a gleaming sword, one Christine recognised from her time aboard _The Siren._ She had once overheard Nadir say that while Erik preferred to kill with his Punjab lasso, he was just as deadly with a sword. She hadn’t doubted it.

 

Christine gasped and quickly stepped in front of Raoul, pushing him back behind her. Erik was capable of many horrible things, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would not hurt her.

 

“Erik, put that away!” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him in a way that might have almost been comical, had the situation been different.

 

At last Erik turned his full attention to Christine, who noticeably stiffened under his heavy gaze. “My dear, your _fiancé_ tried to kill me once before, if you remember correctly, I am merely trying to repay the favour,” he began, flourishing his sword in the air for dramatic effect. “Mind you, I don’t recall you being quite so upset when it was my life on the line, and not your precious Vicomte’s.” His words were light, conversational even, but each syllable hit Christine like a blow to the chest.

 

Shame coloured her face. Guilty did not begin to describe how she had felt in the days after her Raoul had found her. Some nights she cried, thinking that she must be damned to hell for leaving him. She still occasionally had nightmares of Erik drowning, pulling her down into the sea with him, _till death do us part_.

 

She had confided in Raoul for she had no one else left, and he’d told her time and again that Erik was evil, that he deserved to die and that she was an innocent victim. His world was black and white, good vs. evil and good always prevailed. He was right in a sense, but he was also wrong. She knew Erik had done bad things, but he’d also cared for her, sheltered her, protected her, _loved_ her.

 

Erik had never been a monster to her, not since the beginning.

 

Before she could say anything in her defence (was there anything _to_ say?), he continued in a softer, kinder voice, the voice he only ever used with her. “Do not fret, my darling. I told you once that I could forgive you anything, did I not?”

 

She nodded minutely, and in return the corners of Erik’s lips twitched into a small smile. For a moment it felt as if they were back on board _The Siren_. With deliberate steps Erik strode towards her until he stood but millimetres away from her. Vaguely she felt Raoul tugging on her hand, trying to pull her back, but she couldn’t find it in herself to move. He reached for her with his free hand and gently cupped her cheek. His touch was cool but not unpleasant, more than anything it was familiar. Erik hated physical contact, avoided it if at all possible, but Christine, as always, was the exception.

 

“Christine,” he whispered, his voice heavy and full of longing.

 

“Christine! Get behind me, now!” Raoul hissed, and just like that, the illusion was shattered.

 

All traces of kindness drained from Erik’s face as he glared at Raoul. “Do you really think that I would ever harm her, Vicomte? I love my wife more than you could ever imagine!” he spat the words, bringing his sword up in preparation.

 

“Erik, stop this! Please!” Christine said, even as Raoul grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind him, flatly ignoring her protests. She lunged forward, trying to get out in front of his, but Phillipe grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. This fight was no place for a lady.

 

“You stole her from me!” Erik hissed, advancing upon them.

 

“I saved her from you!” Raoul snarled in return.

 

Erik roared and lunged towards Raoul who quickly dived out of the way, crashing into a nearby table. The sword came crashing down on thin air, but Erik had reflexes like a cat and before Raoul had a chance to recover he was at him again. People were shouting, someone was screaming, but neither man seemed to care. Thinking quickly Raoul spun on his knees and grabbed the only thing he could reach to defend himself as Erik’s sword came hurtling down towards him; a brass candle holder.

 

The sword hit the metal with a loud clang, denting the brass but stopping the sword from going through his head. Raoul didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief though, because a mere second later the tip of Erik’s sword swiped the mangled remains right out of his hands, leaving him utterly defenceless. Wildly he looked around for something else, but there was nothing.

 

Slowly and calmly Erik lowered his sword, the razor sharp point resting at the base of his throat.

 

“Tell me one thing, Vicomte. Did she ever sing for you?”

 

Raoul’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “…No.”

 

A look of something eerily close to victory crossed the Phantom’s face, well, what Raoul could see of it anyway.

 

His heart was pumping erratically against his chest as Erik raised his sword high in the air. Frantically he scoured the crowd looking for Christine. He found her standing at the edge of the crowd, beautiful and heartbreaking, struggling against Phillipe’s protective grip.

 

“Any last words?” Erik growled.

 

“I’m sorry,” Raoul murmured as he stared across the room into Christine’s terrified brown eyes.

 

No. She would not let him die for her sake. She had to stop this, now!

 

Quick as a whip she stopped fighting against Phillipe and turned to face him

 

“If you don’t let me go right now, Raoul will die!” she hissed.

 

Phillipe looked at his glanced at his brother, back at Christine and quickly made the decision to let her go.

 

Christine spared him but a moments glance before she sprinted towards Erik and Raoul.

 

“Erik! Stop this madness right now!” she shouted as she skidded to a halt next to him.

 

Sword still raised high in the air Erik shifted slightly so he was facing her, “It is not madness, Christine, merely the fulfilling of a promise I made a long time ago.”

 

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she stepped forward and ever so gently put her hand on his outstretched arm. “Erik, please don’t do this. I will go with you now; we can leave together and go wherever you want, but not if you kill Raoul.”

 

From his place on the floor, Raoul made a pained sound. “Don’t, Christine. Don’t do it,” he said. Both Christine and Erik ignored him.

 

Erik’s yellow eyes narrowed and he dropped his sword to rest at the base of Raoul’s throat, “You will leave with me tonight whether I kill the Vicomte or not. You are my wife.” His voice was teetering on threatening, and in response Christine’s gaze hardened.

 

“Not willingly. If you hurt Raoul, you will get nothing from me but hatred. I will spend the rest of my life fighting you, running from you.” Her gaze softened as she took a breath, “But if you let Raoul go then I promise we will be happy, together. We will make the most beautiful music, travel the world, whatever you want, but only if we leave right now.”

 

Erik’s eyes were unreadable beneath his mask. “You are my wife,” he repeated, though this time his words seemed uncertain, less sure of himself. He was no longer certain that he held the power in this negotiation.

 

Christine nodded slowly and surely, “Yes, I am. It’s up to you to decide what kind of marriage we will have.”

 

“Don’t do this, Christine, please. Don’t throw away your life for my sake!” Raoul begged from his knees, mindful of the sharp blade at his throat. Aside from a barely perceptible tightening of her posture it appeared that Christine hadn’t even heard him, so he turned his attention to Erik instead, “You know that she could never love you. If you must, kill me here and now, but let Christine go free for her sake.” There was an edge of hysteria to his voice now, but again neither party paid him any heed. Hell, they might as well have been the only people in the room for all the attention they paid the rest of the guests.

 

“Darius!” he barked, and one of the pirates, a young, Persian looking man stepped forward. Erik spoke a few words in rapid Farsi and the pirate responded by pulling out his sword and placing it just beneath Raoul’s throat.

 

“I would advise you not to underestimate Darius, Vicomte. He’s quite quick with a blade, and he won’t hesitate to hurt you if you so much as twitch a muscle,” he said as he sheathed his own sword. Then, finally, he gave his full attention to Christine.

 

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes flickering over her from top to bottom before finally coming to rest on her left hand. His lip curled in distaste.

 

The ring, she realised. She was still wearing Raoul’s engagement ring. Quickly she yanked it off her finger, ignoring the stabbing pain in her heart and the rolling guilt in her stomach.

 

“Give it to me,” he said, and with trembling fingers she did. One second the ring was in his hand, the next it was gone.

 

Erik had always loved amusing her with pretty tricks.

 

From the breast pocket on his coat he retrieved another ring, this one dainty, delicate, rose gold instead of silver. The diamond was smaller, but it was still beautiful.

 

Wordlessly he offered her the ring, his eyes fixed upon her, almost daring her to change her mind, to back out while she still had the chance.

 

She offered him her left hand and with gentle fingers he slipped on her fourth finger.

 

_May 1691, On board The Siren_

“Please Erik, don’t make me do this!” she sobbed, desperately clutching at the white dress in her arms. It was beautiful, made to fit her like a glove. No doubt something he had commissioned on one of their previous visits to port. But as beautiful as the white lace dress was, it was equally as horrifying.

 

She couldn’t get married!

 

His yellow eyes were ablaze with anger as he regarded her, “Do I not make a pleasing husband, Christine? Have I ever mistreated you? No! I have done nothing but love you and care for you since the moment we met! You selfish girl, I ask so little in return! You will marry me or you will not like the consequences, Christine!”

 

“I don’t want to get married, I’m scared, Erik! Please don’t make me do this.”

 

His gaze softened. He reached out and tenderly coaxed her face up to meet his. “My darling Christine, there is nothing to be afraid of. I know I am not the husband you might have imagined as a child, but I will be a good to you as I have always been. As for what happens after… well, there is no need to fear that. I will be gentle. I can even make it quite enjoyable for you, my love. Let me show you how much I adore you.”

 

What choice did she have? Erik was right, he had fed her, clothed her, protected her, _loved_ her. If she refused what then? She had no one else in the world who would care for her. He had told her countless times how lucky she was that he had saved her, that there were many awful things that happened to girls like her alone in the world.

 

She didn’t want to be alone.

 

Erik loved her, he cherished her. He could be very kind and sweet when he wanted to be. He made her laugh with his dry sense of humour, he taught her how to read and write, about the histories of the world, science. And his music! Erik made the most wonderful music on earth, he played for her constantly as long as she promised to sing along with him.

 

Some of Christine’s favourite nights had been spent in Erik’s cabin, singing for him, surrounded by the thing she loved the most since her father had died; music.

 

Erik gazed at her with those yellow eyes of his, and he stroked her cheek fondly. “We belong together, you and I. Marry me, Christine. Make me the happiest man alive _,_ ” he whispered in that soothing voice of his, and Christine found herself nodding.

 

Tearfully she looked up at him, “Yes, I-I’ll marry you.”

 

Erik smiled indulgently and kissed her softly on her forehead. “You’re such a good girl, Christine,” he said, and then he left, humming quietly as he went.

 

Alone once more, Christine sat on the edge of her bed and breathed deeply, taking a few moments to calm herself. Then, with a steely reserve she stood to prepare for her wedding.

 

Christine dressed herself in the white lace, ignoring the tremble of her hands. She combed her hair and twisted it into a soft elegant bun at the nape of her neck, with just a few loose curls pulled out. Erik had brought her pearls to wear around her neck, and dutifully she put those on as well. Finally, she picked up the veil, and placed it delicately over her head, careful not to crush the delicate material or the flowers that were woven into the crown. Breathing deeply, she spun and looked at herself in the mirror.

 

Her breath caught. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than she ever had. The dress Erik had chosen suited her perfectly, and idly she wondered how long ago he had planned this ceremony.  She didn’t miss that the flowers that decorated her veil were her favourites, or that he’d chosen white for her dress, after she had told him once that it was her favourite colour to wear, because she so rarely had a chance to as a child.

 

When she was a little girl, like all little girls, she’d dreamt of what her wedding would one day be like. She imagined herself in a dress much like the one she was wearing. It would be in a grand ballroom, decorated beautifully with flowers and candles, her best friends would be by her side, her fiancé would be strong and handsome, and love her fiercely, and she of course would adore him in return. Her father would walk her down the aisle and everything would be simply perfect…

 

It was a foolish dream. Erik loved her, he would provide for her, that was enough. She could be more than happy with that. Erik could, and would give her the world if she asked him.

 

He would die for her, he would kill for her.

 

And it wasn’t like she hated him either. Despite everything he had done, she, well, she wasn’t quite sure of her feelings towards Erik, they were altogether too confusing, but they weren’t bad. She was saved from further musings by the sound of a familiar voice carrying across her room.

 

“Oh Christine, you look simply enchanting!”

 

Christine spun around in surprise to see Nadir smiling sweetly at her from her cabin door.

 

“Nadir, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she said with a laugh, blushing from him comment.

 

“My apologies. Erik sent me to come and see if you were ready, spouting some nonsense that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding!” Nadir harrumphed and Christine bit back a small smile. “But truly Christine, you are a vision to behold. In truth, there is another reason for my visit.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Nadir cleared his throat, his face unusually hesitant. “I know that marrying Erik is not something you would have chosen yourself. I know he can be difficult, and trying and a whole host of other unpleasant things. I tried to talk him out of it. You are much too young and sweet, Christine, but he would not be swayed.” Nadir sighed deeply and continued “He wants this, you, more than anything. The idea of marriage, a real, true marriage, is something he thought he could never have, until you. He adores you, Christine, truly loves you. He refuses to be parted with you, and he has it in his mind that marriage is the only way to ensure that never happens. However, if you truly don’t want this, you don’t have to go through with it. Erik will not harm you, nothing has to change.”

 

He took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. Christine appreciated the sentiment, but they both knew that while the intention was good, they were just words. Erik would have her by his side, one way or another.

 

“It’s okay, Nadir. Thank you, though, you have always been a dear friend.”

 

Nadir nodded, “Then in that case, I wanted to ask you something. I know it is traditional for the father of the bride to walk her down the aisle. However, considering the circumstances I had thought, well, hoped really, that you would allow me the honour of giving you away? Nothing would give me greater joy.”

 

Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed forward and threw her arms around Nadir, clutching him tightly. “Thank you, Nadir.”

 

“For what it is worth, he does love you. It might not look like it, but he is better with you around, you have brought out a different side to him. He will treasure you as he always has, I will make sure of it.”

Before she knew it, Nadir was marching her down the deck of _The Siren_ to where Erik was waiting, dressed in an impeccably fine suit, his white mask glinting under the light of the sun. He took her hand in his, vows were said and then, after slipping a small diamond ring upon her finger, he proclaimed them man and wife, and kissed her with burning intensity.

_February 1696, Paris_

 

Christine had been young and naïve when she had walked down the aisle the first time. She had been forced into that marriage, unknowing and scared. She was walking into this one with her eyes wide open.

 

“Kiss me,” he said. _Prove to them that you belong to me._

 

Part of her ached to glance at Raoul, to somehow reassure him that everything she was doing, no matter how deplorable, was for him. She couldn’t though for both of their sakes.

 

She looked at Erik, stepped forward and without hesitation reached up, pulled his face down towards her and planted her lips on his.

 

He froze, but it was only for a moment. Quickly his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her close against him. The bottom edge of his mask kept bumping against her lips as she moulded herself against him. It was irritating, but she pushed all thoughts from her mind as she allowed herself to be lost in the kiss. His lips, malformed as they were, moved smoothly like liquid fire against her own, inciting butterflies in her stomach.

 

One of his hands wound its way into her hair, the other caressing her back. Christine might have initiated the kiss, but Erik was more than happy to take control. He knew how his wife liked to be kissed, and it wasn’t with gentlemanly care.

 

Dimly, she recognised Raoul’s voice, hoarse, agonised and desperate, begging for Erik to stop, for her to stop.

 

It seemed to be an eternity, and in truth the kiss was probably far longer and indecent than was proper. Finally, Erik pulled away, gently biting Christine’s bottom lip as he went. She was mortified when the smallest of moans slipped from her lips. He allowed her to step back though his arm remained around her waist, keeping her close to him. It was petty and childish but it was far better than the alternative, she knew this even when her eyes made contact with Raoul, hunched over on the floor, his entire frame shaking from sobs. It was a wonder that he hadn’t sliced his own neck open on Darius’ blade by accident.

 

She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him, or maybe she just didn’t want to see how everyone else was looking at her. Her friends, her new family, what would they think of her? Whore, slut, liar, she could only imagine.

 

She could never come back, never show her face in Paris again. With one kiss she had sealed her fate, there was no going back and that was okay, because Raoul would live.

 

That didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t stop the pain like a lance in her heart or the guilt sitting in the bottom of her stomach.

 

“Christine,” Erik said, pulling her attention back to him. “We need to leave. I promise I won’t hurt the boy, but we cannot stay in Paris much longer,” he said softly, his hand coaxing her chin up to meet his gaze

 

Mutely, Christine nodded.

 

“She doesn’t love you. You’re a monster.”

 

The words were hardly more than a hoarse whisper, yet they seemed to echo through the room with unnerving clarity

 

For one dreadful, horrible moment Christine thought that he was talking to her, but when she looked over at him she found his eyes fixated on Erik. His eyes were bloodshot and ablaze with anger, his face so taut that the veins on his neck and forehead were bulging out of his skin. Raoul had always been such a sweet, gentle soul, never had she seen him look at anyone like that, with such monstrous hatred. In truth, she hadn’t thought him capable of it.

 

Erik stared at him for a moment, his arm still slung around Christine’s waist. His answer, when it came, was neither mocking, nor victorious but almost painful in its rawness.

 

“Yes, from birth till death, it seems.”

 

Raoul shifted his gaze to Christine, but he didn’t say another word. His eyes had lost their fire, his face wiped clean from the fury and the anger. All that was left was a tremendous overwhelming sadness.

 

_I love you. Please don’t hate me for this._

 

In truth she barely registered Erik’s next words in her ear. It felt like she was in a trance as he led her like a child from the hall. Dimly she registered the pirates filing out behind them, Darius last of all. They slipped through back streets and alleys, sticking to the shadows. Erik spoke to her the whole time, in that soothing, calming voice of his.

 

Somehow, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember how, they had ended up on in a carriage bound for god only knew where, just the two of them.  

 

“Erik, where are we going?” she asked quietly, staring out the window.

 

“Rouen. My ship is there waiting for us.”

 

Christine turned to face him, confusion plain on her face, “But _The Siren_ sank, I saw it myself.”

 

“I acquired a new ship. She’s beautiful, faster than _The Siren,”_ he said, gently rubbing soft circles into Christine’s hand.

 

“Oh, and what did you name her?”

 

Erik smirked, “I named her _Christine_.”

 

In spite of everything a laugh bubbled out of her throat, “You didn’t! Erik that’s a terrible name!”

 

“I happen to think it’s a wonderful name for an excellent ship.”

 

Christine snorted, “We shall have to agree to disagree.”

 

Erik rolled his eyes affectionately, “We will spend the night in Rouen, meet up with Nadir the day after tomorrow and then we will leave this wretched place behind.”  


A wide smile spread across her lovely face, “Nadir?”

 

“Yes, darling. That foul Persian will be accompanying us. I take it this pleases you? You did make such an effort to free him from prison after all.”

 

Christine let out a gleeful laugh and without thinking, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, just below the edge of his mask.

 

Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, Christine went to pull away, but Erik’s hand on her cheek stopped her.

 

“I’ve missed you so, so much. You have no idea, Christine.”

 

Christine sighed as if all the sorrows of the world had fallen upon her. “Erik, take off your mask.”

 

“What?! Why?!”

 

“Because I want to see you without that wretched mask. Because I’m asking you.”

 

Ruefully and more than a little reluctantly, he obeyed, glowering the entire time.

 

There it was, the same disfigured visage, the same half melted half skeletal face, the same sunken eyes, the same malformed lips. It wasn’t any less ugly to look at, but Christine no longer felt any repulsion or fear when she gazed upon it. It was normal to her now; it was simply Erik’s face.

 

He didn’t speak, merely watched her with the wariness of a wild animal caught in a trap. He was expecting her to scream maybe, or mock him. Instead she kissed him on both cheeks.

 

“I missed you every day. There were days where I hated you, others where I hated myself for what I’d done to you, but I missed you Erik. I missed the singing, I missed the ship, I missed your voice, I missed _us_ , even when I had no right to.”

 

“… It wasn’t all terrible, was it? I know I wasn’t the best of husbands, but-“

 

Christine cut him off with a soft, warm smile. “No, Erik. We had our moments.”

 

“It was agony, watching you walk away with him.”

 

The smile slipped from Christine’s face. “I –“

 

He frowned, his face becoming even more distorted in the process. “No, I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, my dear, but because I never intend to suffer that pain again. I know you still harbour feelings for that boy, but you are _my_ wife and I will not be held responsible for my actions should you break your word, Christine.”

 

“I gave my word and _I_ do not intend to break it.”

 

“Good, because I would hunt you to the ends of the earth if you ever left me again, my dear.”

 

And then he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the Epilogue to go - thanks for sticking with me this far guys!


	6. Epilogue

It was a rare thing, Erik mused, to be truly happy and content. Lying in this bed with his wife sleeping soundly in his arms, that was the epitome of happiness. He didn’t deserve happiness, yet he’d taken it nonetheless. It was nothing short of blasphemy for a creature such as him to have taken an angel like Christine, and yet he’d done that too. This was his victory, his triumph against a spiteful world. He had taken the loveliest of all the angels and made her wholly his.

 

There was a soft knock on the door. Erik sighed, slipping out of the bed and putting on the mask sitting on the corner table. It was early in the morning, but not obscenely so, besides, he had been expecting a visitor. Quietly crossing the floor as to not awaken Christine, still fast asleep on the bed where he had left only moments before. He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, wincing when it emitted a loud creak, but Christine didn’t stir.

 

Nadir. He looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot and weary, no doubt he’d ridden through the night without rest, as Erik had instructed.

 

Erik brought one long finger up to his lips and Nadir nodded, his deep brown eyes flickering momentarily to the sleeping Christine. Neither had any intentions for her to see this exchange.

 

“Show me,” Erik whispered, his voice appearing right next to Nadir’s left ear.

 

From within his coat Nadir pulled out an old, weathered burlap sack. At one stage it had been entirely brown, but over time it had become mottled, stained. The bottom of the sack was oozing, and as Nadir handed it over a fat droplet of red liquid fell and hit the floor.

 

Blood.

 

Languidly Erik puled the sack open and peered inside. His deformed lips curled into a satisfied smile and he handed the sack back to Nadir, who deftly hid it once more in his coat.

 

“Excellent. Go and clean yourself up. You have an hour.”

 

Nadir cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably, “Erik… he didn’t deserve to die.”

 

Erik’s cheer vanished instantly, “And yet he did. I would be very careful with your next words Nadir. You are here because Christine wishes it and I allow it, that can change very quickly.”

 

Nadir scowled at him, a look so out of character on his usually cheerful face. “Yes, I am here for Christine. This time it was she who saved my life, and so it is she that I owe my life to. Erik, I know you love her and I have to trust that you won’t hurt her like last time. However, should that change I want to be absolutely certain that you understand that I will tell her everything, and then I will do my absolute best to ensure that you never see her again.”

 

Erik opened his mouth to snarl a retort, but the softest of mumbles emanating from the bed brought him up short. “One hour, Nadir. Go.”

 

Before he had a chance to reply Erik shut the door on his face and walked back over to the bed on which his wife was awakening.

 

She was stunning. Her dark brown curls spilling across the pillow, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the blankets. Erik couldn’t help the small smile that crept across his face as her eyes blinked open and her nose scrunched up in an absurdly adorable manner.

 

“What time is it?” she asked, sleep thickly coating her voice.

 

“Just after dawn, my dear.”

 

“Are we leaving soon?”

 

“In an hour or so, but we still have time.”

 

“Time for what?” Christine inquired, but Erik was already slipping back into the bed, clothes and all.

 

“Sleep, my dear,” he murmured as he pulled her gently into her arms. “I will wake you when we need to leave.”

 

“But I need to get dressed and my hair is a mess-“ she half-heartedly said, her eyelids already drooping under the weight of her tiredness. Erik’s chest may not have been the most comfortable pillow, but the steady rise and fall of his chest was oddly soothing and the gentle caresses of his hands, one on her waist the other in her hair, softly lulled her into a state of relaxation.

 

“You will have plenty of time to get ready, my darling girl. Rest,” he replied, his long pale fingers combing through her soft chestnut curls.

 

Within minutes she was fast asleep, curled up against his side. He would allow her rest now, and wake her just before they had to go. She needed it; the events of the previous few days had left her exhausted and her sleep had been fitful at best. No doubt she had also been thinking of him, her ill-fated fiancé.

 

It mattered not, the Vicomte was dead.

 

There was nothing left to obstruct him, no one to stand between himself, Christine and their happiness.

 

The months he had been without her had been… unpleasant to say the least. The first month he’d been consumed with madness. Everything was an agony of pain and loss and emptiness…

 

Then, once his sanity slowly returned he found himself overcome with murderous rage and the excruciating and unending pain of loss. He felt her absence like a knife in his side and it seemed that outside of Christine, all he wanted, all he could think about was the vengeance he would enact when he finally caught a hold of the Admiral.

 

He missed his wife. He missed her touches, her kisses, her smile, and the way she laughed. He missed the way she fit against him, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating and the spark of fire in her eyes whenever she was angry. He missed the feel of her skin against his hideous flesh, the unparalleled sensation of her beneath him at night. He missed his beautiful Christine.

 

And her voice! Dear god did he ache for her voice! At times he had thought he would go mad if he did not hear her sing again. Every piece he composed in her absence was created with her voice in mind and as such each composition left him mad with aching and longing. They were forever just out of reach – incomplete without her voice to breathe life into them. But now, now they would make the most wonderful music!

 

In her sleep Christine mumbled softly and nuzzled closer against his chest. Erik’s gaze once again drifted down to his sleeping wife, blissfully lost in her sleep. As her fingers unintentionally drifted across his hideously pale and scarred chest he shivered, relishing the contact. Christine had played the dutiful wife the past several days, but she had also been… distant. She had not shied away from his touches as such, but when she thought Erik wasn’t watching her smile slipped away and she would gaze off into the distance, slowly nibbling her bottom lip. She was torn, still no doubt longing for her beloved Vicomte.

 

He would not allow it.

 

She was _his_ wife.

 

All his.

 

He would make her forget all about her precious dead Vicomte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd we're at the end. Thank you so much to everyone who commented, subscribed and gave kudos, this has been a story I've been sitting on for a while, too nervous to publish, and I'm thrilled with the response it's gotten. Thanks guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please leave some kudos or a comment if you did :)


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